


But you can't be missed

by eleanor_lavish



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Reality, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-06
Updated: 2008-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> "No, I mean.  It's like you haven't aged a single day."  Ryan steals another glance, and Brendon looks uncomfortably out the window.  The back streets of Vegas look a lot like he remembers them.  The cars in the driveways aren't really different, people are still dressed the same, dragging their trash to the sidewalk in their pajamas.  No one's in some sort of space-age suit or wearing a video visor, or walking a robotic dog.  If Brendon was going to be dropped unceremoniously into the future without his consent, there could at least be robotic dogs.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
They’ve been there for nearly a month already, and Brendon is about to kill everyone ever. The songwriting is stalled out somewhere between ‘this is weird but it might work’ and ‘this blows such chunks, holy crap’. Ryan’s been baked for three days straight, Jon broke his good camera on Tuesday and has been pissy ever since, and Shane isn’t due back from Vegas until Sunday. So for two days its been Spence and Brendon and a marathon game of Guitar Hero. That is, until Spencer ditched Brendon to go hang out on the roof and call Haley.

Brendon hadn't even been doing anything extra annoying. He'd miraculously won the last three battles, so it was fair and square that he demand that Spence get them more Cheese-Its from the kitchen, and only right that Brendon tackle him to the ground when he refused. "Come on, Smith, take it like a man," Brendon had crowed, and, okay, maybe he licked Spencer's neck, but only because it was _right there_ , and Brendon is only human.

It's not like he'd never done it _before_.

Spencer had pushed Brendon off him hard enough to bang his back into the couch. "What the _fuck_ , Bren?" he yelled, and he left the room without even bothering to pause the game. When he didn't come back, Brendon went looking for him, sort of to apologize, but mostly because he was just bored as hell. The window of Spencer's attic room was wide open, as it usually was on nice evenings, and Brendon was halfway outside to the roof before he heard Spencer's voice, low and pinched.

"No, I just can’t fucking deal with him right now, seriously you don't know what he's like--" is all Brendon caught of the conversation. But it was enough to set Brendon off into a screaming fit that might have included the phrases “fucking stoner assholes," “dickwads who only care about themselves,” and “liked you better when you were a prissy ass bitch”.

He maybe feels a little bad about it. But only a little bit. Spence has been very un-Spence-like as the weeks go by, refusing to shake Ryan into any kind of action, worrying more about their bets involving facial hair than about appeasing the label. Brendon wants to play _music_. They have a random show in three weeks, and they’ve got nothing new to play and haven’t rehearsed the old stuff in forever. And Spencer doesn’t seem to give a shit.

Brendon needs air. Space. He needs to not be in this cabin that reeks of weed and stale beer and old socks and Spencer's fruity shampoos. He finishes his tirade with “Fuck you, Spence! Call me when you decide to stop being a douchebag!” and slams the bedroom door behind him. He thinks about taking the car, but he’s had a couple of beers and it’s a nice evening anyway, so he just walks down the path into the wooded area behind the cabin.

He remembers when he first joined the band, how Spencer's steady gaze and dry, even voice had been disconcerting, especially coming from a guy even younger than him. But when the media frenzy started up, when all the Brent shit went down, when Ryan's dad died, they all leaned on Spencer and he was strong enough to hold them all up. Brendon's not sure if Spence would even try anymore. He seems content to just let everything stagnate around him. Brendon knows blaming Spencer isn't fair, but he figures that's what Spencer gets for taking on the roll of the guy who knows what he's doing, and then just walking away from it. Brendon wants to punch Spencer in the fucking _face_ sometimes, but he's pretty sure Spencer could take him. Also, Spencer has a really pretty face.

Brendon likes to pretend that his crush on Spencer has been totally obliterated by his new-found stoner attitude, but that would be a lie. Spencer's eyes are pretty even when they're all pupil, and his mouth is even _more_ inviting when he's smiling lazily up at Brendon from the couch, or wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. He also likes to think he's dealt with said crush pretty fucking well. He's nice to Haley whether she and Spencer are on or off (its hard to tell some days), he doesn't try to drunkenly kiss Spencer (except that one time in Texas, when Brendon slipped him a little tongue in the middle of a freak rainstorm, but he's pretty sure Spencer was too drunk to remember that), he's slept with a number of random girls (and a couple of guys), and when he feels like flirting shamelessly with Spencer, he just flirts shamelessly with everyone in the room, so no one is any the wiser. The last thing he needs is for Spencer, or, Christ, _Jon and Ryan_ figuring it out. The only person he's ever told is Zack, because Brendon firmly believes that its Zack's job to know _everything_.

Zack just patted him on the back and said, "Man, that sucks, dude."

And now, Spencer is probably sitting up in his room telling his pretty, perfect maybe-girlfriend about how Brendon is a massive drama queen, and Brendon's not getting any credit at _all_ for being an upstanding, non-groping kind of guy.

Everything blows.

It's chilly out, but its just barely dusk, and he's got his lavender hoodie over a long-sleeve t-shirt. Brendon walks for a good half-hour in the hills before he pulls out his phone to text Pete. _my band is full of assholes. i totally quit._ , he types. He’s got a really sporadic signal, and he steps to the left, then the right, then the right again, holding the phone up to try and catch it long enough to hit send. His next step right is sadly down a somewhat steep hill. He loses his sidekick and almost a shoe on the slide down before conking his head on a tree branch and promptly passing out.

*

It's dark when he opens his eyes. Brendon presses the heel of his hand to his temple-- there's a dull throb there, but nothing seems to be broken or bleeding. He gets awkwardly to his knees and checks around for his phone, but he can't find it anywhere. "Fucking awesome," he mutters to himself and begins the climb back up to the path. He shakes the dirt off his jeans and wonders how long he's been lying there. Without his phone, there's no way to check. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts trudging back to the cabin. They'd better at least have been a _little_ worried about him. Even if they aren't, he is so going to monopolize the hot tub tonight.

The lights are out when he gets to the back door, and it's locked up tight. "Seriously?" Brendon says to the doorknob when it refuses to turn for the third time. They never lock the doors up here-- no one is around to bother them, and none of them ever remember to take a key. He pounds on the door for a good five minutes before he notices the cars are all missing from the driveway. Brendon's skin flashes hot-cold, and there is a prickling along his spine he refuses to call fear. He pounds for another few minutes. "Ry? Open the fucking door, Ryan! Jonny! _Spencer_!! I'm sorry I called you a dick, now let me the fuck in!"

The house just creaks a little and stays perfectly dark. There's a bit of peeling paint on the door that Brendon's never noticed before. Brendon kicks the door once and heads for the main gatehouse. Carlos, the security guard, will at least be able to tell him when the rest of the guys left. Without him. _Fucking assholes_ , he thinks. He's trying to stay angry, because if he's angry, he's less likely to cry in front of a middle-aged security guard. He thinks suddenly of Zack, at home in Chicago. If Zack were at the cabin, they never would have left without Brendon. Brendon wonders if he can pay Zack enough to rough Spencer up a little. Probably not.

The gatehouse is strangely dark as he approaches, and Brendon's heart starts beating a little faster. Sure enough, Carlos is gone too-- on the other side of the resort, maybe, or... it doesn't matter. Brendon doesn't bother wondering. He's done with this bullshit. It's getting colder out, and he's in nothing but his hoodie, and he hasn't eaten in hours, and his band _left_ him there! He thinks about going back and breaking into the cabin, but he doesn't want to deal with Ryan's bitchface in the morning when it turns out they have to pay for a window. There's a diner half a mile up the road with a payphone. If Brendon can remember any of the guys' numbers ( _damn cellphones_ ), he can call them from there. And maybe get a sandwich.

He starts walking.

Turns out the only number he can remember is Ryan's. Well, and Spencer's mom, but the clock inside the diner says its just past midnight, and Brendon really doesn't need to be in trouble with Spencer's mom right now. It's warm inside, and there's an ATM, but it rejects his card three times. Brendon kicks the machine and gets a dirty look from the waitress. He discovers a five in his wallet, which gets him a $2 can of coke (which, for a dive in the middle of nowhere is actual highway robbery) and change for the phone. He drops in fifty cents and dials. The number rings three times before a groggy female voice answers with a "Hello?"

"Ryan?" he asks, and he gets an annoyed "Wrong number" before the line goes dead.

 _Well, shit_ , he thinks. Maybe he's not as good at remembering numbers as he thought. He thinks again about calling the Smiths, but can't quite bring himself to do it.

In the end, he calls his mom. It's a number he knows by heart, but barely uses these days. However, he's stuck in a diner in the middle of the night with no car, no money, and a country station that is playing a Carrie Underwood song he's never heard before. It's pretty much the definition of 'emergency'. This time the phone rings twice before a man answers.

"...Dad?" Brendon asks, because the guy doesn't sound too familiar.

"Who is this? Do you know what time it is?" the voice says, and yeah. That is so not Brendon's dad. He flushes to his toes.

"Um, sorry, I'm just looking for the Uries?" he tries, and the guy says "No one here by that name, and don't call back" before he hangs up. Brendon blinks at the phone as the radio DJ announces "This weekend, don't forget! Tune in to try and win tickets for the sold out Cobra Starship show at the Hard Rock!". Brendon pouts. He didn't even know Cobra was _playing_ a show at the Hard Rock. Seriously. ...Worst. Night. Ever.

*

He nurses his Coke for nearly an hour. He could go back to the cabin-- they might actually be home by now, but he somehow doubts it. Besides, it's cold up in the mountains in March, and he thinks about his apartment, and the warmth of the Vegas valley, and thinks maybe he can find the guys there, or find Shane, and just stay with him until its time to come back up. Not like the band is doing any real work anyway. Maybe he won't tell them where he is, either. He'll make them sweat a little. But then he thinks about the time in high school when Spencer's dog Bootsie ran away, and the look on Spencer's face when they still couldn't find him twelve hours later, and he realizes he's not that cruel. The rest of them might be thoughtless idiots, but Brendon at least won't do _that_.

As he's coming out of the bathroom he hears a trucker telling the waitress he's on his way into the city. He puts on his best smile and sticks out his hand and manages to convince the guy to give him a ride. It's a nice night, and the guy has the radio set to classic rock, and Brendon almost nods off in the passenger seat before he realizes that if he didn't have the key to the cabin, he doesn't have the key to his place. "Well, crap," he says to no one in particular and the trucker-- Mitch-- looks at him.

"What's up?"

"Can you?" Brendon sighs. He doesn't have a spare key to his swanky hi-rise apartment, and he's only had it for a month, so he's not going to bet on the late night doorman knowing him on sight. The road they're on passes right by Ryan's gated community, though, and while Brendon doesn't have his _own_ spare key, he knows where Ryan hides his, under the potted plant next to the driveway. (He started keeping it there the third time he got so stoned he locked himself out after walks around the neighborhood.) "Can you let me off up there?" he says, pointing to the entrance, and the guy pulls over.

"You sure you're okay, kid?" he asks, and he sounds genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine," Brendon says with a shrug. "Tonight is the fucking definition of Murphy's Law, you know? But I can crash at my friend's."

Mitch nods and waits until Brendon has scrambled over the gate before he drives away. Brendon doesn't stop at the guard house-- they know that Ryan is out of town and Brendon suspects he's not on some sort of 'sure they can come break into my place' list Ryan left. He ducks down the road and cuts through a backyard until he hits the winding streets of the development and manages to find Ryan's house among the McMansions.

Unfortunately, there is no longer a potted plant by the door.

Brendon feels the prickly tears of frustration start to build behind his eyes. He's about three seconds from sitting on Ryan's curb and crying when he sees a light on in the upstairs bedroom. Suddenly, the prickly feeling is less frustrated and more really fucking pissed off. Brendon stomps up the walkway to the front door and starts pounding on it.

"HEY! ROSS! YOU FORGET SOMETHING?" he yells, and kicks the door a few times for good measure. "COULDN'T LEAVE A MOTHERFUCKING NOTE?"

A dog barks somewhere in the neighborhood, and Brendon is probably making a spectacle of himself, but he doesn't really care. He's really fucking cold now, and exhausted, and maybe he's _concussed_ or something and Ryan is upstairs probably getting stoned and watching reruns. He keeps pounding and kicking until he sees another light come on through the downstairs window. "Open the fucking _door_ , Ryan," he yells.

The door snicks open at the same time flashing lights descend on him from behind, followed by the sound of cars coming to a quick stop on asphalt. "Put your hands on your head and get down on the ground," someone behind him yells and Brendon looks up to see a terrified woman of about 65 peeking out from the other side of the door.

"Fuck," Brendon says as he puts his hands on his head and closes his eyes.

*

They question him at their main gate office, and he's only apologized, like, _a million times_ before someone says, "What did you say your name was?"

"Brendon Urie," he says, eyes wide. "I'm a friend of Ryan Ross, and I must have gotten the house numbers mixed up, I am SO SORRY," he tries again, but the guy is looking at him really strangely, then looking at his ID and looking back again.

"Wait here," he says, and leaves Brendon alone in the small, windowless room. Brendon puts his head on the table and tries to keep his leg from shaking with nervous tension. It's another fifteen minutes before the guy comes back. Brendon wonders if they'll let him out if he has to use the bathroom. "You'll have to come with me, young man," he says, a little gruff but not unkind. They walk him out of the building and into the back of a waiting car.

"What's going on?" Brendon asks, and he's so mortified that his voice shakes a little.

"We're going to have to take you down to LVPD proper," the guy says, and Brendon feels like he's going to throw up.

Pete is going to _kill_ him. Unless Spencer gets to him first.

*

They interrogate him when he gets there in another small holding cell, if asking him to recite his name, birth date, social security number, and mother's maiden name over and over can be called interrogation. When the fourth officer starts asking him the same questions, a thick, worn manila folder open in front of him, Brendon looks up and gives his best goofy smile. "You're not all, like, opening credit cards in my name while I sit here, right? Because I'm really not all that rich, dude." The officer closes the file and leaves the room. They give him a breathalyser, which he happily takes, eager to not be labeled the next pop star destined for rehab. They bring him out to the main area to fingerprint him, and Brendon's mortification is tempered by his reaction to the cool fingerprint scanner they use to do it. He looks around and sees flatscreens on every officer's desk, and watches a few of them pull out touch screen cell phones. "Man, casino money must make this a decent place to work, huh?" he tries to chat with the officer taking his fingerprints. She snorts. She's about 25, with her dark hair slicked back into a ponytail, and when she looks up, Brendon almost knows her question before she asks it.

"Are you really Brendon Urie?" she says, her voice pitched low enough not to be overheard. "I had this poster, and I mean. ...You really look like him."

His cheek flush, and he thinks, _at least I'm not drunk in my mugshot_ , before answering "Guilty. I mean, not _guilty_ , but, just. Shit. Um, yes?" He's expecting her to smile, maybe, but she just takes a deep breath and says "Wow."

Brendon's not sure what to do with that.

*

An officer named Mendez ("call me Tony," he tells Brendon when he sits down) gets him a turkey sandwich and a cup of coffee. He's got really toned arms under his short-sleeved police uniform, and a smile that puts Brendon a little at ease. "So, Brendon," he starts. "We've got an unusual situation here."

Brendon swallows his bite of sandwich and blinks at him. "I mean, I know what I did was totally out of line, and I am totally willing to compensate that poor lady for anything--" he starts and Tony shakes his head to cut him off.

"Why don't you tell me about what happened _before_ that. Where were you before you tried to find Mr. Ross?"

Brendon takes a deep breath and jumps into the story of his _worst night ever_ , telling him about the fight with Spence, and hitting his head, and the empty house, and the diner. "I mean, it's crazy, right? If I could have found my phone, all of this wouldn't have been a problem, you know? But if you can find Spencer or Ryan, they could come down and tell you I do _not_ usually do stuff like this."

Tony tilts his head. "You fell in the woods behind your cabin?" he asks, and Brendon nods. Tony reaches into the same worn manila folder the other officer had and pulls out a photograph. "Is this the cabin?"

Brendon stares at the picture. It's their cabin, with Ryan's car in the driveway. He looks up with wide eyes. "Where did you get this?"

"I know its strange, but I need you to just answer the question, okay Brendon?"

"Yeah, that's our cabin."

"And this?" Tony holds out another photo. It's a picture of a steep, wooded hill, and there's a small, grey thing in the middle of it.

"Is that? I mean, that's a sidekick, right? Is that mine?"

"We're working on that. Now, tell me about hitting your head." Tony leans forward on his elbows, and Brendon's eyes cut to the big mirror along the opposite wall. If television is right, and Brendon has no reason to think it's not, there could be people behind it, watching him. He takes a deep breath and puts his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking.

"It was just a tree branch, I think," he says. "I was out for a bit, I guess, since I left the cabin around 8, and got to the diner around midnight. But it doesn't really hurt," he adds. There is a knock on the door, and Tony gets up to answer it. Another officer hands him a sheet of paper and keeps stealing looks at Brendon. Brendon tries his best to look calm and put together. He overhears a few words of their conversation: "match" and "DNA" and "FBI". Tony leaves the room for a second and comes back with a fresh cup of coffee. He takes Brendon's finished cup and says, "Hey, Brendon? I'll be back in a little bit, okay? Just hold tight."

Brendon holds on to his cup of coffee with two hands. He gets up to pace a little and stops in front of the mirror and stares himself down, willing his face neutral. This is not the worst situation Brendon's ever been in. Tony seems like a cool guy. The FBI thing must have been about another case. Brendon just has to sit tight and wait for his band to come get him, and he'll be just fine.

Totally _fine_.

*

Brendon doesn't know how long he's in there before Tony comes back-- there's no clock on the wall in the room, which he guesses is part of some police procedure to make you think you've been stuck in a hole for three days, when its really just been an hour or so. He enters the room, followed by a woman in her mid-thirties with dark hair pulled off her face with a big plastic clip. She's dressed in slacks and a rumpled blazer, and her eyes are a little puffy, but alert. She sits down across from him and smiles, and Brendon tries to smile back, but he hasn't slept in hours, and it's got to be closing in on dawn.

"This is Dr. Phillips," Tony says from where he's standing in front of the closed door.

"I'm okay," Brendon says hastily. His head really doesn't hurt unless he pokes at the little lump where he hit it. He says as much and the Doctor shakes her head.

"I'm not that kind of doctor," she says. "I'm a psychologist who does some consulting work with the FBI. I just want to have a talk with you."

Brendon doesn't even know what to say to that. He cuts his eyes over to Tony, his chest suddenly tight. "Look, I'm not really sure what I'm being accused of here, so I don't know-"

Dr. Phillips cuts him off with a friendly wave. "It's not that kind of a talk, okay? Just humor me, I'm sure you've done this a million times already today."

"Okay," Brendon replies, and his voice is barely a whisper. He's got no idea who that lady in Ryan's complex was, but somehow the FBI is involved now? And why did they have pictures of the cabin? And why hasn't anyone chased down Spencer's number like he asked them to hours ago? A sudden thought leaves him dizzy. "Wait. Is... is something going on with my band? Are they okay? Because they can be jerks, but it's really not like them to disappear like that, not without coming right back, so is someone sick, maybe?" The words come tumbling out faster and Brendon's fingers are gripped tight on the edge of the table. "Was there an accident or something? I mean, otherwise you'd be able to find them, right?"

"We're doing our best to locate Mr. Ross, I promise," Tony says, his eyes cutting to the mirror. "A few questions, and we'll try to get to the bottom of this."

"The bottom of _what_?" Brendon says, desperate. "Yesterday I'm hanging out with my friends and today they're gone, and the FBI is talking to me, and I'd really like to catch up here!"

"They haven't explained--" Dr. Phillips looks at Tony and he shrugs a little helplessly.

"We don't really have a procedure for this kind of thing," he says. "It's FBI jurisdiction, at this point. And we didn't want him freaking out."

"Freaking out about _what_?" Brendon says, his voice loud and echoing in the small room.

They both turn to look at him, and Dr. Phillips purses her lips together and leans forward.

"What's your full name?"

Brendon's breaths are coming fast and shallow, and he can't believe she's asking him--

"Come on, breathe, and tell me your full name."

"Brendon Boyd Urie," he says, catching her eyes and not looking away. She nods.

"Birthdate?"

"April 12, 1987."

"How old are you, Brendon?"

"The math's pretty easy on that one, so--"

"Please," she says. "Humor me."

"Nineteen," he replies and she clenches her jaw just a fraction. Brendon's stomach flips.

"Brendon, do you know today's date?" she asks. Her tone is casual, but her eyes are focused, sharp.

"It's hard to tell days apart in the cabin, but. Thursday, I guess? March 8th."

"March 8th of what year?"

"2007."

She sits there looking at him for long enough that Brendon fidgets in his chair and says "Really, I can tell you my social again, too. And my cell phone number? I can probably remember my address, but the zip code might be off, since I just--"

"Brendon, I want you to look at something for me," Dr. Phillips says, and her voice has changed a little. It's softer, rounder at the edges. Soothing. Brendon reaches across the table to take what looks like a newspaper. "I swiped this from the desk of an officer as I came through," she says with a rueful smile. "I want you to look at the date."

It's the Vegas Sun, with the headline _President Obama Denounces Iranian Involvement in Nuclear Testing_. Above that is the date: _March 8, 2015_. Brendon's throat closes up tight and his vision starts to blur a little at the corners. "Brendon," he hears a voice, then two, and suddenly Tony is at his side, pulling his chair back and pushing Brendon's head between his knees, kneeling in front of his chair. "Breathe, dude, come on," he says, his hand running over Brendon's back. "See what I mean?" he says with a hint of smile in his voice and Dr. Phillips comes around to kneel next to him.

"Brendon?" she starts and he cuts her off.

"This is a joke, right?"

"No, it's not. We're just as in the dark about what's going on as you are. But--" she starts and places her hand on his arm. Brendon jerks back from both of them and stands up. This is ridiculous. This is _impossible_.

"I don't know what you're trying to do here, but unless I'm under arrest, I would like to get the fuck out of here." He tucks his shaking hands under his arms.

"Brendon," Tony says. "Just hear us out." They stand up slowly, deliberately, like Brendon is a spooked animal. Which isn't too far from the truth. He'd try to punch Tony and run for it, if he wasn't sure that Tony would totally be able to catch him. He just stands as close as he can to the door and tries to hear over the rush of blood in his ears. "Eight years ago, you were reported missing from that cabin, wearing exactly what you're wearing now. The LVPD, the Nevada state police, and the FBI were all called in to try to find you. No one found anything except that cell phone."

"It was _yesterday_ ," Brendon says, and his voice is tinged with hysteria.

"No," Dr. Phillips cuts in. "I can bring you magazines with the date, we can go turn on CNN in the break room, but I promise you, they are all going to tell you that it's 2015. I think that--"

"I don't fucking CARE," Brendon yells, and he can feel a rush of adrenaline surge through him. Whatever fucking insane game this is, he will rip the fucking door off its hinges, and find his mom and his band and sue the fucking FBI for a zillion dollars for pulling this shit. "I want you to call my parents NOW, and i want a lawyer, and I want you to shut the fuck up!"

"Your parents no longer live in Vegas," Tony says, his voice gentle, and Brendon can feel the edge of the turkey sandwich making him sick to his stomach. Tony cuts his eyes back to the mirror and says "If you like, we can try--"

Brendon doesn't even let him finish. He takes three steps to the mirror and starts pounding on it. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but this is a sick fucking joke, and I'm done! Let me the FUCK. OUT. OF. HERE!" he yells, pounding on the glass with each word. Tony grabs his arms from behind and Brendon yells louder as he's pulled back and wrestled face down to the ground. He sort of registers a commotion in the hallway a moment later, followed by the door opening; his arms are twisted back enough that he can't move, can't look to see who just came in.

"Let him go, _now_ ," he hears and fuck; it's Ryan. Brendon is so fucking relieved he can actually feel the tears prick the corners of his eyes. "Bren, Brendon." Ryan's kneeling on the ground next to him and Brendon lets out a shaky breath as Tony releases him.

"Took you long enough," he manages to joke, giddy to finally get out of this nightmare. But when he looks up, Ryan looks like Ryan, but different-- his hair is shorter, mussed like he just rolled out of bed. He's wearing a blue t-shirt that says 'Summerville Pee Wee League' on it, and his face is fuller, like he's had one too many good meals. Behind his small wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes are bright with tears.

"Brendon?" he says again. His hands come out to hover over Brendon's arm, not quite touching, like he can't quite believe Brendon is there.

"Oh, God," Brendon says, voice barely above a whisper. Ryan's arms are around his neck a second later and Brendon is pretty sure he might pass out.

*

"It's not like its completely unprecedented," Dr. Phillips is saying, but Brendon is struggling to concentrate for more than three words at a time. Ryan is sitting next to him, their hands clasped tightly together, and Ryan keeps squeezing every few seconds, waiting with his breath held until Brendon squeezes back. It's not something anyone but the rest of the band would recognize, but Ryan's harnessed energy is thrumming under his skin enough to make Brendon's knee bounce in reaction.

"People don't just come back from the dead," Ryan says, and that is enough to make Brendon jerk his head over. He's _dead_ , apparently, and that makes the whole thing just that more disconcerting.

"Well, no, but there have been cases of people who've disappeared only to re-appear years later, sometimes with memory loss related to trauma."

Ryan squeezes Brendon's hand hard enough to hurt, and Brendon knocks his knee to reassure him that, no, he hasn't suffered any great trauma of which he is aware. Ryan lets out a slow breath. "But you don't know that that is the case here," Ryan says, firmly, and Dr. Phillips sighs before she tilts her head.

"We'd like some medical doctors to take a look at you, Brendon," she says, and it seems like she's really trying hard to be nice and calm, and it's not that Brendon doesn't appreciate it, but.

"Can that wait a day or two?" Ryan asks. "I mean, he's obviously not in any immediate danger, and I think he just needs a little while to acclimate before we start with anything too... invasive." Brendon squeezes his hand a little harder in thanks. "I mean, you're not charging him with anything, right?" Ryan and Brendon both look at Tony, and he shrugs.

"No formal charges at this time, so we can't actually hold him here," he says, and Dr. Phillips sighs again, frustrated.

Ryan just stands up, hand still firmly in Brendon's, and says, "Okay, then I'm taking him home, and you or the FBI can contact him through me if and when there is a next step. We'll need to get the paperwork going pretty fast to get his social security number back and stuff, I'm guessing, but he's got a place to stay in the meantime." The inside of Brendon's head is swimming by this point but Ryan's voice is firm, sure, and pretty un-Ryan-like, and Brendon just lets himself be led out of the room and down the hall. It's not until they're out in the parking lot, blinking in the first rays of the morning sun, that Brendon's words catch up with them.

"Ry?" he says meekly. "What the fuck is going on?"

Ryan stops at a white minivan and looks at his feet, then at their hands, then at Brendon's face, pausing for a long time before answering. "I have no idea, Bren. You were just... you were gone, and now you're back, and I don't really want to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?" His voice is tight and low, like it is when Ryan is trying hard not to cry in public, and Brendon just steps in closer and wraps his arms around Ryan's waist.

Ryan's hugs are exactly the same, except that the pause before he starts hugging back is shorter than Brendon's used to.

*


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan steals enough glances at him as they drive that Brendon finally says, "Look, if you need to stare, I can drive." Ryan huffs in annoyance and keeps his eyes on the road.

"It's just. You look exactly the same," he says, and Brendon shrugs and plays with the zipper on his hoodie.

"I _am_ exactly the same," he replies.

"No, I mean. It's like you haven't aged a single day." Ryan steals another glance, and Brendon looks uncomfortably out the window. The back streets of Vegas look a lot like he remembers them. The cars in the driveways aren't really different, people are still dressed the same, dragging their trash to the sidewalk in their pajamas. No one's in some sort of space-age suit or wearing a video visor, or walking a robotic dog. If Brendon was going to be dropped unceremoniously into the future without his consent, there could at least be robotic dogs. He tips his temple against the glass and looks back at Ryan. In profile, he looks almost the same, but he's definitely not the Ryan that Brendon fought with yesterday over the last poptart. "Do you believe in time travel?" he asks, because it's not a conversation he's actually ever had with Ryan before. Spencer is a pragmatist, and Jon's a realist, but Ryan might have a little perspective.

Ryan turns down a tree-lined street and frowns a little before pulling over and throwing the minivan into park. He runs his hands through his hair and worries his bottom lip between his teeth like he always does when he's working out a puzzle. "I don't think so? But honestly, you look exactly the same, Bren. And you really don't remember where you've been all this time?"

Brendon turns in his seat, tucking one leg up under himself. "I wasn't _anywhere_ all this time, Ry, I swear to God. I was at the cabin, I hit my head, I woke up in the future. What the hell does that sound like to you?"

"Brainwashing?" Ryan responds almost immediately. "A coma, maybe? Or maybe... I mean, Dr. Phillips knows her stuff, maybe there _was_ something traumatic that your body is trying to get you to forget. I don't know, Brendon. Time travel just seems a little far-fetched."

"Well, all those options sound really awful, so I'm going to go with time travel until proven otherwise," Brendon says, his stomach twisting a little.

Ryan chuffs out a laugh and rests his head on the steering wheel. "Man, that sounds like a pretty decent idea, actually." He takes a few steadying breaths before he sits up and looks at Brendon seriously. "Okay, so. We have to figure out what we're going to do here. You actually showed up on a really busy day," he says with a wry twist of his mouth. "I have to call your parents," he continues, almost to himself, and Brendon says "I can do it!"

"Yeah, no," Ryan smiles. "If you'd called _me_ I would have passed out from shock, so I am not letting you call your mom. In fact, I might just tell her there's new case evidence and wait until they fly in to tell them."

"Where are they?" Brendon asks quietly. His family loves Vegas, and it seems weird that they would leave.

"Italy, actually. Your dad got a transfer," Ryan says, and Brendon feels the world tilt a little. "The media pressure was pretty awful after your disappearance, but they stuck around for all of that. It wasn't until a few years ago when your dad had you finally declared legally dead that they moved."

"Well, they should have waited," Brendon says, stinging a little that they would just move on like that. Ryan looks at him sharply.

"It had been six years, Bren. They needed the closure." He looks out the window as a few kids pass the car on the way to their school bus stop. "A lot of people did."

Brendon can see lines of exhaustion on Ryan's face, and imagines what he would be like if one of them just never came home one day, just disappeared off the face of the earth. Brendon would lose his shit entirely, he's pretty sure. He reaches out to take Ryan's hand, and Ryan startles a little in his seat. "Sorry," Brendon says, and he he means for all of it, for all the pain he's sure Ryan went through over him. "I'm so sorry, Ry."

"Don't apologize," Ryan says, "just know that this is going to be just as hard for some people to come to terms with as your death was. I'm still not entirely sure I'm not dreaming this," he adds, and Brendon reaches over and pinches him hard in the thigh. "Ow, motherfucker!" Ryan says with a laugh. Brendon grins at him. "Okay, fine, be a bitch about it," Ryan says as he throws the car into gear. "We're going to my house. There are a few things you should know. Try not to freak out."

*

Brendon manages to not freak out until the minivan is safely tucked into the garage. "You have _two_ kids?" he asks again, and Ryan grins at him.

"Sam is five, and Nora is two," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out. Brendon almost swings his door into a Toyota hybrid before he climbs out. He's going to ask again (because what the _fuck_ , Ryan doesn't even _like_ kids!) when the door into the house bangs open and a very worried looking, slightly more brunette than usual Keltie runs at Ryan.

"Jesus, Ry, you said you'd call if there was any new word at the station, and I've been up since four, and--" she stops dead when she sees Brendon standing there. "Oh my God," she says, voice wavering.

"Hey," Brendon says to her, suddenly unsure. Ryan's right-- this isn't going to be easy for anyone, Brendon included. Not when everyone he's ever known is going to look at him like he's a ghost. Ryan has Keltie by the elbow, and he's murmuring to her, his voice low and comforting, but she's just staring at Brendon like a deer caught in headlights.

"This is crazy," she whispers, and Brendon looks at his feet. "How do you know its him?" she asks Ryan sharply. "What if its some impostor who looks like him? The kids are upstairs, Ry, how could you--"

"It's him," Ryan cuts her off. "They ran fingerprints and they're all a match. The FBI took a DNA sample to confirm," (Brendon remembers with a start the coffee cup that Tony carefully took from the table), "but it's him, I promise." Brendon's blood runs a little cold wondering how many other people might think the same thing, might not even believe he's Brendon Urie. He wonders if he'll have to carry around his own DNA results.

"Brendon?" she says, and he gives a little one-handed wave. "What? How is this possible? Where have you _been_?"

"I. Don't remember," he says feebly, and he knows that's not going to be enough for most people, not by a long shot. But Keltie takes four running steps at him and hugs him so tight he can barely breathe, and he can feel the prick of hot tears on his neck. "Hey, hey. It's okay," he says, rubbing her back. He and Keltie are friends, but her romance with Ryan was still in its slightly rocky infancy the last Brendon remembers, which is yesterday in his head. He looks up to see Ryan watching her, eyes bright, and hugs her tighter. He's pretty sure he's figured out the reason Ryan _didn't_ fall apart when he disappeared. "Thank you," he whispers into her hair. "For taking care of him." She starts crying in earnest then, and Brendon doesn't know what to do. A tiny boy with a mop of dark hair peers around the door jamb.

"Mommy?" he says meekly, and Ryan gathers him up into his arms as Keltie pulls back and wipes at her eyes. "It's okay, Sammy. Mom's just crying because she's happy," she says, and Sam doesn't really look convinced. He's looking at Brendon with suspicion.

"This is my friend Brendon," Ryan tells him, and Sam buries his face in his dad's neck when Brendon waves. "He's the shy one," Ryan grins and rubs Sam's back. "Nora will cling to your leg like a monkey."

Keltie takes Sam from Ryan and nods to the door. "I'm going to get this one dressed and make some breakfast."

"Yeah," Ryan replies. "Bren and I have some things to talk about, but we'll be in in a minute. This afternoon is going to be a clusterf--," he cuts himself off with a glance at Sam.

Keltie's eyes go wide. "Oh, God, Ry. Does Spence--"

"No," Ryan cuts her off sharply, eyes cutting to Brendon, and Brendon feels it again, the chill throughout his body that tells him there are some pretty key things he doesn't know. "I can't just... We'll go over this morning and see him in person. I can't just call--"

"You can't just show up on his doorstep with Brendon in tow," she says, voice low and tense, and Ryan sighs.

"I'll talk to him first," he says, and she sighs back and kisses his cheek before heading inside. She stops at the doorway and shakes her head at Brendon, her eyes still disbelieving.

"Ryan," Brendon says quietly when the door closes behind her. "What happened with Spence?"

*

The world didn't stop when Brendon disappeared. He gets that much from Ryan's marriage, his kids. But he senses it veered off course a bit, from the way Ryan is digging through the boxes in the corner of his garage. "He couldn't keep it all, not after everything," Ryan says, his voice muffled by cardboard. "But none of us would be okay with him throwing it away."

"Who throwing what away?" Brendon asks, frustrated. "Ry, what the hell--"

But Ryan's never been one for answering a question directly when he could just talk you around to the right answer. Especially when it was something he didn't want to talk about in the first place. Brendon's stomach tightens a little more. "Spencer went a little nuts with the news clippings," Ryan answers, and then frowns a little at his own word choice. "He just. He was trying to make sense of something that never really made sense. Here." He holds out a black binder with 'March 07 - April 07' written on it in careful handwriting. Spencer's handwriting. Brendon takes it and and opens it at random, curious. The binder is thick, full of plastic sleeves with newspaper clippings, burned DVDs that say 'Dateline' and 'MSNBC' and 'Larry King', copies of police statements. Ryan hands him another one, 'April 07 - June 07' that is just as thick, but a flip through shows more and more of the content is repeats of press releases, police reports from places as far away as Alaska and Mexico City. "Jesus," Brendon says, sitting down hard on the concrete floor. He picks up the first binder and opens it to a random page.

> LA Times  
> April 2, 2007
> 
> As the search for missing Panic! at the Disco singer Brendon Urie drags on in its fourth week, bandmate Spencer Smith urges people across the country to not give up hope for a safe return. "No body has been found," Smith stated in a press release that went out to major newspapers and TV stations nationwide. "Brendon is a smart guy, a resourceful guy. If he's alive - and there is no reason now to think he is not - he would not want us giving up." When asked by a reporter at a recent news conference whether Urie is possibly in hiding, Smith bristled. "He wouldn't do that, he's not that kind of guy."
> 
> Nothing has been discovered in the case outside of Urie's cell phone, with an unsent text message to friend and boss Pete Wentz. The content of the text message hasn't been officially released, but Wentz has been quoted as saying, "It's not like he meant it," leading some in the industry to believe Urie had grown tired of his role of pop star and was looking for a way out. The future of Panic! at the Disco is up in the air until Urie is found, but Wentz says that talk of breaking up the band is premature. "If we find Brendon, I don't want to have to tell him his band is done," he said in a statement from label Decaydance, a subsidiary of Atlantic Records. "Let's deal with things one at time."
> 
> As false reports of Urie sightings exhaust local law enforcement and the FBI's phone operators, it is becoming increasingly hard to see a happy ending. "Any news would be good news at this point," said visibly exhausted bandmate Jon Walker. "We just want to know what happened."
> 
> Smith has already vowed not to let the search wane. "Brendon is our best friend, and I'm not going to stop looking until we have answers," he said in his press release. "I owe him that much."
> 
> Urie has been missing from the woods outside of Las Vegas, Nevada for 25 days.

Brendon's hands are shaking by the time he's done. "I didn't know," he says in a whisper. "I swear to God, Ry, I wasn't off somewhere not calling. It was _yesterday_ ," he starts, and Ryan sits down close, wraps his arm around Brendon's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, stop it. We'll figure it out. There's only so mad I can be that you're not actually dead," he says, deadpan, and Brendon laughs without meaning to. He looks over to see another half a dozen binders stacked on the floor.

"How many of those are there?" he asks, and Ryan looks at his shoes and shrugs.

"Twenty? Thirty? After a year or so it gets to be less official stuff and more notes that Spence added himself, from leads he went chasing when they weren't enough for the FBI to go on. Copies of posters he put up in towns where someone said they were sure they saw you at the 7-11, things like that."

"Jesus," he says again. Brendon exhales slowly.

"He took it really hard," Ryan murmurs, curling in on himself a little. "I mean, we all did, but Spence... well, you know Spence. He likes to have the answers, and you just weren't giving him any. He got really... anyway." Brendon wants to push, say _anyway what??_ , but Ryan keeps talking. "We couldn't replace you, no one wanted to do that, so the band eventually just ceased to exist. Jon moved back to Chicago full time, and just tried to live a normal life. He was so new to all of us, you know? And he wasn't prepared to deal with losing you and the band, and watching Spencer kill himself over it. He just took baby steps back from us until he could deal." Brendon nods, his throat closing up. "None of us blamed him," Ryan continues. "I mean, not even Spence, not really. And its gotten better in the past couple of years. Spence and Pete and I went to his wedding last year in Chicago."

"Cassie?"

"Nah," Ryan smiles. "Girl named Laura who's going to be a lawyer. She cleaned up his act and he fucking worships her."

"We should call him too," Brendon says, because if he's going to do anything here, it's make sure to mend fences between Spencer and Ryan and Jon. "But Spencer first, right?"

Ryan stills. "Keltie's right, Bren. We can't just call him. He-- he's doing okay now, but I'm really not sure what this is going to do to him," he says quietly. "It's only been a few years since he was so bad he wrapped himself around a tree, and I just. I can't risk anything like that happening again."

Brendon just blinks. "What happened?" he asks, just as quietly, and shrugs off Ryan's arm so he can hold his hand.

Ryan sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "He was angry at us, at his parents, at the FBI. He was angry when people didn't believe him that you weren't dead. He was carrying all of our hope on his shoulders and it got to be too much for him. He started drinking to fall asleep, and popping pills to stay awake. He wouldn't return our calls. He would fly off with nothing but his binder and his laptop to any location where you might have been spotted. He met a lot of people who wanted money for information, and he gave it to them. He just... it was three years before he hit rock bottom and we checked him into a rehab center. It was another two before we realized he was still talking to you, out loud, nearly every day. He ran off the road outside San Diego and told the doctors in the hospital he did it because you said you missed him." Ryan stops for a breath and Brendon almost tells him to stop. This is the worst story he's ever heard. "It seems crazy, right?" Ryan almost smiles, but Brendon can hear the tremor in his voice. "I mean, its _Spencer_. Spencer's not the one of us who was supposed to end up in a padded room."

"What about now?" Brendon is almost afraid to know.

"Now, he's okay. His parents found him an inpatient psych clinic, a really great one, and that's when your parents decided to go forward with the death certificate. They'd gotten really close to him in those first few years, and all of us needed the closure, but mostly Spence. These days, he goes to his therapist, he's not on any of the serious meds anymore. He spends most of his time working," Ryan says with a grin, and Brendon snorts.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," he grins back, and tries to focus on the fact that Spencer is okay, that he's better. Not that he almost died because Brendon up and disappeared off the face of the earth.

"Oh, you have no idea," Ryan shakes his head. "He runs the Brendon Urie Foundation to benefit the Center for Missing and Exploited Children." He pauses to let it sink in for a second. "Their third annual Rock and Roll Fundraiser is tomorrow, at the Hard Rock. Cobra's headlining, so its a big deal."

"Cobra _Starship_?" Brendon asks, like it's the icing on the world's weirdest cake.

Ryan laughs. "Fangs up, man. Cobra Starship is the biggest band on the planet right now."

"Okay, now you're just making stuff up," Brendon says and Ryan just laughs harder.

*

Keltie can't stop staring at him over breakfast. Brendon takes a bite of French toast and tries to look anywhere but where she is sitting, her own fork forgotten on her plate. "Kel," Ryan says, low and sweet, and she looks over, flustered.

"I can't _help_ it," she says, and Brendon tries to ignore the wordless discussion that ensues. It's easy to be distracted by the tiny brunette who climbed in his lap the second he sat down.

"Bite, please," she says in a small, tinny voice and opens her mouth as she grabs Brendon's thumb.

"You like French toast?" He smiles at her, and she nods, mouth still open. Sam is nowhere to be seen, but Brendon hears the screech-and-crash sounds of cartoons in the other room. "Just one bite," he says. She nods again and he cuts one of his bites in half and feeds it to her with his fingers.

Nora giggles and kicks at his knee. "Bite, please!" she says, still chewing.

"Your dad taught you that trick, didn't he?" Brendon ruffles her hair. "One more take, Bren. No just one more. No I swear, just one more this time." Nora giggles and presses her syrup-sticky face into his shirt. He hears the scrape of wood against the floor and when he looks up, Ryan is walking away from the table quickly, his shoulders softly hunched. "Hey, I didn't--" he says to Keltie, and she just shakes her head as she gets up.

"It's okay, Brendon. He's just still processing. He'd kind of abandoned any hope you might meet the kids." Brendon blinks down at the little girl making raspberries into his wrist. "Keep an eye on her, okay?" Keltie says, and then heads after Ryan.

"This is gonna be hard," he says to the top of Nora's head and she looks up and grins at him.

"Bite, Bren!"

"Man, you Ross kids are pushy," Brendon mutters with small smile and picks up another piece of French toast.

*

 

"Okay, so," Ryan is visibly nervous as they pull out of the driveway. Keltie gave Brendon such a tight hug when they left that he's pretty sure he's bruised. He tries to pay attention to Ryan's voice. "When we get to the hotel you need to put your hoodie up, glasses on." Ryan lent him a new hoodie, one that isn't lavender. It's a Cobra Starship hoodie with a giant purple snake across the back. He looks down at it and snorts. "Whatever, you'll blend in," Ryan says, but Brendon can tell he's trying not to laugh. "We'll skip the backstage stuff and head right up to Jon and Laura's room. They're in town for the show. I called him and told him not to go anywhere until I got there."

"Does he know?" Brendon asks, fiddling with the zipper of the hoodie.

"No. He'll find out soon enough," Ryan answers, looking both ways as the car crosses a busy residential street. "Anyway, his room is on the same floor as Spence and a bunch of the bands, so we need to get you in there and keep you there until I can talk to Spencer."

Brendon wonders what Spencer looks like now. There weren't a lot of pictures of the band at Ryan's place, but he only saw the living room which was full of pictures of the kids. There was one picture, tucked in the corner, of the four of them at the cabin, all sitting on the roof watching the sunset. Brendon remembers that Shane took it a few weeks ago; his brain tries to turn those weeks into eight years and fails miserably. "You okay?" Ryan asks him, and Brendon's nod turns into a resigned shrug.

"I just. Maybe we should wait until there are more answers," he says quietly. "It's not like people are going to stop asking where I've been, and until I know--"

"Look," Ryan cuts in, "I agree that making a huge media statement is a bad call, but if anyone at the precinct talked, the press probably already has wind that something is up and I can't risk... They need to hear it from me, from us, first."

"Yeah, okay." Brendon watches the strip get closer as they speed down the highway. The city looks nearly the same but the suburbs are even more sprawling, spilling into neighborhoods where Brendon remembers mostly desert and scrub, and there's at least one new hotel shimmering on the strip that he's never seen before.

The Hard Rock, however, is just as Brendon remembers it. Ryan has him put on the sunglasses before they even reach the parking garage, but it's all still neon bright. They make it inside without anyone even glancing at them-- Ryan's spent most of the past decade on the production side of the business, and he's not as easily recognized anymore. Brendon realizes with a start that a lot of the kids already waiting in line to see Cobra Starship were in elementary school the last time his face was on TV. He still ducks his head and sticks close to Ryan, who hustles them in a back door and up to the 10th floor. "Do they still have a bowling alley in the Penthouse?" Brendon asks, peering down the hall. Ryan shrugs. "I would guess so, but you can ask Gabe later. Come on." He hurries down to the end of the hall, glancing at one door quickly before stopping at the next. "Ready?" he asks, but he's not even looking at Brendon as he takes a deep breath and knocks.

*

Laura is down-to-earth pretty, with thick auburn hair and a wide smile. She opens the door with a saucy "Ryan Ross, I missed a spa appointment, so this better be good" and Brendon likes her immediately. She frowns a little when she sees him, and Ryan pushes past her, pulling Brendon along behind him. Brendon hears her gasped "holy shit" as he stumbles into the small hotel room, and almost echoes her thought when he sees Jon.

Jon still looks like Jon, like Ryan looks like Ryan, but he's got a little more paunch and just a tad less hair. Unless you count the beard, which Jon is rocking in full force. His temples are a little prematurely grey. Brendon is somehow grateful beyond measure that he's barefoot and cross-legged on the king-sized bed, still looking small and solid, a pose Brendon remembers like it was... well, like it was yesterday. "Hey," Ryan says, and Brendon knows he's suddenly wishing he'd prepared an introductory speech of some kind. Brendon pushes his hood down and his sunglasses up on his forehead, just to deflect the attention over to himself, and his eyes are on Jon when Laura says, "Is that really him?"

"Yeah," Brendon and Ryan reply at the same time, and Laura sits down hard on the edge of the bed. Jon stares at Brendon for a long minute, eyes flitting to Ryan and back.

"Well," Laura says when the silence is enough to make Brendon want to bolt for the door. "It's nice to finally meet you."

*

"He doesn't _know_ ," Ryan is saying for the fifteenth time, and Brendon looks at Laura apologetically from his perch on the edge of the bathtub. They've been relegated to the bathroom until Ryan can convince Jon that Brendon is not a cyborg or a Russian spy. Laura is sitting on the toilet, her legs crossed, watching him.

"Jon just needs to yell it out, then he'll be fine," she says with a soft smile, and Brendon nods and tries to ignore how his stomach is rolling. A second later, Jon comes stomping into the room.

"When I first met you, where were we?" he asks, pointing a finger at Brendon.

"Um," Brendon says, wide-eyed. "Heathrow?"

Jon glares. "Okay, fine. What was your favorite childhood toy?"

"Mr. Frog," Brendon says, a small grin starting to spread despite his best efforts. "Ask me another one."

Jon cross his arms and tries to look menacing. "Your least favorite Beatles song?"

"Golden Slumbers. 'Cause its way too close to golden showers, dude." He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Come on, make them harder. Like, ask me about what exactly you were using as lube that time I caught you jacking off in the kitchen. I would have thought olive oil would have been an obvious choice, but..." Brendon's grin wavers a little when Jon goes from blush pink to white as a sheet.

"Fuck, Brendon," he breathes and Brendon gets up to wrap his arms around Jon's neck and pull him close. Laura moves close and rubs comforting circles on Jon's back.

"I'm sorry, Jonny Walker," he says, his throat closing up, and Jon's hands fist in his hoodie as he holds on tight.

*

Under any other circumstances, Brendon would be grilling Jon's wife on how many of his stoner, weirdo tendencies he's retained into actual adulthood. He thinks she'd have some pretty entertaining answers. Instead, they just sit uncomfortably on the hotel sofa and listen for any noise from the room next door. Spencer's room.

Jon and Ryan have only been gone ten minutes when Brendon hears a distinct "Spencer, stop it!" from the hallway.

"If you won't fucking tell me more than that, the police will," Spencer yells back at Ryan, and Brendon runs to the door to press his ear against it.

"Come back inside, Spence," Jon says, softer and a little worried. Brendon's hand is on the doorknob before he even has a chance to think about it. Spencer is out there, Spencer thinks he's _dead_ , and Brendon's pretty sure that knowing he's NOT dead would be better than the other way. If he thought Spencer was dead... Brendon flashes back to Ryan's story in the garage and wonders how close that actually came to being true, and he's out the door before Laura can pull his arm back.

It's like a tableau, Brendon thinks later. Ryan and Jon in Spencer's doorway, Brendon in his stupid Cobra Starship hoodie with Laura clinging to his arm, and Spencer. Spencer Smith with his hair cut fashionably short, bangs still in his eyes and his face clean-shaven, in tailored jeans and a faded blue button down, looking at Brendon with a mixture of disbelief and sheer terror in his eyes. No one moves for a long moment, and Brendon finally gets it, sees in Spencer's eyes all the time he's missed. He's seconds from launching himself at Spencer for the biggest, best hug he's ever doled out when Spencer takes a deep, shuddery breath.

"You're not real," he says quietly, like he's talking to himself. Brendon opens his mouth and Spencer's eyes flash. "You're not, I'm past that, it's over."

"Spence," Ryan says, his hand light on Spencer's arm, "he's real. I promise-- I can see him, Jon can see him--"

"He looks the same," Spencer says flatly.

"I know--" Ryan starts, and Brendon stands up a little straighter. He doesn't know why, but he feels like if he can pass whatever test Spencer throws at him, everything will be okay.

"No, I mean he looks _exactly_ the same. He looks like he did in every _fucking_ picture, Ry. How is that even possible?"

"We don't know. That's for later, okay? We'll figure it out. But all the prints match--"

Spencer snorts. "Like that can't be faked."

"We're not living in Gattica, Spence," Jon pipes up from the doorway, and Brendon rolls his eyes.

"Like you didn't think I was a _cyborg_ half an hour ago, Jon, Jesus," he says, and he can see Spencer stop breathing. Ryan sees it too.

"Fuck, Spencer, come on, hey," Ryan shakes him, then drags him the three feet back into the hotel room. Brendon and Laura run to catch the door before it closes, and when they get inside, Ryan has Spencer sitting on the floor. "Spence!" Ryan says loudly, inches from Spencer's face, but even from a distance, Brendon can see that his eyes are unfocused.

"Go," Laura says quietly at his elbow, and Brendon takes two steps and drops to his knees in front of Spencer. Ryan looks almost like he wants to stop him, but Brendon pushes him out of the way and cups Spencer's face in his hands, pulling his gaze to Brendon's. "Breathe. Now," he says with as much authority as he can muster. "Spencer, don't be a moron," he adds gently, and Spencer's eyes blink closed as his hands come up to wrap around Brendon's forearms.

"You're not real," he says again, but his hands are pulling Brendon closer.

"I am, okay?" Brendon answers. "Everything got really fucked up, but I'm here. We're all here. You're not crazy."

Spencer presses his nose to Brendon's collarbone and he laughs, slightly hysterical. "Oh, man, you have no idea how crazy I am," he says, and Ryan says "Hey!" behind him. "Shut up, Ry, you know I'm totally batshit insane." Brendon wants to say something, but Spencer's breath is warm on his neck and he still smells like Spencer-- woody soap and fruity shampoo and a little like cigarettes. He runs his thumbs over Spencer's cheekbones and Spencer sighs. "I don't even care. This is kind of the best dream I've had in a long time," Spencer says, his eyes still closed, and Brendon plants a kiss to his temple.

"Open your eyes, Spence," he whispers, and Spencer finally looks up at him. "Hey," Brendon says with a smile.

"Fuck," Spencer says, his eyes still glinting with terror, but mostly with something new. Brendon wants to call it joy.

"Should we...?" Jon says behind them, and Ryan just sighs heavily.

"Spencer, we need to--," but Ryan's cut off by an insistent knock on the door.

*

Pete Wentz has approached his mid-thirties about exactly how Brendon would have imagined-- by refusing to dress like an adult, and dying the tips of his hair a pale blue. Patrick, on the other hand, looks like he's morphing into his own dad, with a fedora and a heather gray blazer. It's not what you'd expect from a hot-shot music producer, but Brendon has to admit that it's actually a pretty okay look on him.

Brendon is still on the floor with Spencer, their hands twined tightly together. He's actually losing a little of the feeling in his fingers, but Spencer seems calmer than he was a few minutes ago, so he doesn't mention it. Pete and Patrick are staring down at him with matching expressions of disbelief. (Brendon's starting to get used to those.) "So he doesn't know where he's been?" Patrick says and Ryan nods. He gave them the quick and dirty version when they showed up. Seems someone on the force _couldn't_ keep their mouth shut, and the whole city is buzzing with the news that Brendon Urie has been spotted alive, in Vegas. Pete's already added extra security to the floor, but "we need to make a statement," he says, and Ryan and Patrick both frown.

"And say what?" Patrick asks at the same time Ryan says "It's too soon."

"Right now, everyone is making up their own story," Pete says.

"Good," Brendon mutters, "maybe they can lend me one."

Jon laughs. Pete just looks at Brendon and says seriously, "Hey. Did you consider time travel?"

Brendon beams at him.

*

Pete finally convinces them that _some_ move is better than none, even if its in the name of deflection. Jon and Laura go with Pete to field questions. ("Honey, I'm a _lawyer_ ," Laura says to Pete when he asks if she's okay with telling less than the whole truth. Brendon wants to give Jon a medal for marrying her.) Ryan takes some of Pete's security guys back to his place to rescue Keltie and the kids from the already advancing media hoards she says are on the front lawn. Patrick goes to try and calm down the Foundation folks, and the handful of bands who are set to perform the next day. Spencer just holds on tighter to Brendon's hand and says, "I'm staying with Brendon".

No one argues.

When they leave, the room is eerily quiet.

Brendon has no idea what to say. He wants to say he's sorry, he wants to shake Spencer, ask him what the hell he was thinking getting that lost in his own head. He wants to talk about how yesterday he was throwing Fruit Loops at the back of Spencer's head in the cabin, and they were arguing about whether _Clueless_ was a chick flick, and how none of this was supposed to happen. He remembers the last time he saw Spencer's face, his cheeks flushed pink with anger as Brendon hurled insults at him, and he presses the heel of his hand to his eye to try and push the memory away.

"I forgot you used to do that," Spencer says next to him, and Brendon looks up to see him watching.

"Do what?"

"Used to do that with your hand when you were upset, or when you didn't want to think about something," he says matter-of-factly, and Brendon flushes a little, embarrassed. Spencer smiles and squeezes his hand and Brendon's heart flutters stupidly in his chest. _It's not the same Spencer,_ he tries to remind himself, but of all of them, Spencer looks the most like Brendon remembers, his cheeks a little sharper but his jaw just as round, his eyes just as blue. There's a faint scar along the left side of his face, and Brendon's hand comes up to touch it before he can stop himself.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he's not quite sure for what, but Spencer just looks away.

"All this time, you weren't anywhere," he says, and its not a question.

"I don't know," Brendon replies quietly. "I wish I did, but yesterday it was 2007, and now its not, and I don't know why."

"No, that's okay." Spencer is smiling again, not quite at him, but at a spot on the wall by the bathroom door. He looks bemused. "It's the only thing that makes sense, really. That you just... ceased to exist for a while."

"Why does that make sense?" Brendon asks.

Spencer shrugs and lifts their clasped hands to his knee. "Because I knew you weren't dead, and I looked everywhere else." It's _almost_ pragmatic enough to sound like the Spencer he remembers, and Brendon laughs.

"Well, you can't fault that logic," he says. "And hey-- now you can tell everyone 'I told you so.'"

Spencer barks out a laugh. "Well, that makes it all worth it, then."

Brendon leans in close and rests his head on Spencer's shoulder. "I'm not worth any of what you went through, Spence," he says quietly.

Spencer sighs. "How much did Ryan tell you?"

"Just the basics, I guess. I didn't really push for details." He flexes his fingers in Spencer's. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"You hungry?" Spencer asks, and Brendon looks up and rolls his eyes, but he can't help his grin.

"Is that code for 'not really'?"

Spencer grins back for a second before something dark and disbelieving passes behind his eyes, and his smile slips as his breathing speeds up. "Bren?" His asks, his voice thin, and Brendon worries for a second that he's going to stop breathing again.

He tries for diversion. Brendon squeezes his hand once before standing up. "You know, I could go for a burger. Apparently I haven't had one in eight years, so I am _totally_ due," he rambles, hunting around for the room service menu. "You still love nachos? Whatever, who doesn't like nachos? I bet they do decent nachos at the Hard Rock." He finds the menu on the desk and flips through until he feels a hand wrap around his elbow. Spencer presses his forehead to the back of Brendon's neck.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "This is just. This is going to take me a little while."

"I know, hey," Brendon says, turning and wrapping his arms around Spencer's waist. "This is going to take me a while too. Tell you what," he says, pulling him close and talking low in his ear. "You promise to catch me up on what the fuck is going on in the world, and I promise to not cease to exist again, okay? This whole possible time travel thing is _way_ overrated."

Spencer hugs him back so tightly Brendon wants to cry. He buries his face in Brendon's neck, and Brendon closes his eyes and lets himself pretend he's back in the cabin, lets himself pretend this is _his_ Spencer, holding onto him like this for no reason at all. His hands smooth over Spencer's back in wide, soothing circles until Spencer takes a deep breath and pulls back a little. "Burger and nachos," Spencer says, his voice tight but even, and Brendon just says "it can wait" and pulls him back in.

*

Brendon's spent the last three hours sprawled on Spencer's bed, learning about the slow, painful end of the Iraq war, and finding out Pete is married to Ashlee fucking Simpson, and playing with Spencer's 6th generation iPhone.

Brendon hides in the bathroom when the food arrives. When he opens the door, Spencer is sitting on the bed watching for him, his fingers white knuckled in the bedspread. "Hey," Brendon says after a pause. "You know there's not an escape hatch in there, right?"

"Yeah." Spencer blinks away from Brendon and down at the floor. "No, sorry, it's just." He waves his hand helplessly. Brendon sits next to him and bumps his shoulder.

"So, what were you telling me about William finding God?" he asks, and Spencer laughs a little and picks up where he left off. Turns out Beckett's career in Christian rock is way more successful than TAI had ever managed to be, and Brendon isn't sure whether to be happy for him or scared for the youth of today. "Or, tomorrow? Whatever, it's bizarre," he says and Spencer shrugs in agreement.

They're stuffed on nachos and fries and burgers and cokes by the time everyone reconvenes in Spencer's room.

Pete and Patrick arrive first, still a unified front, followed by the rest of the Panic crew. Nora launches herself at Spencer with a cry of glee, and Brendon watches him pick her up carefully. "Hey funny face," he says, and Nora giggles.

"So, I've been talking to Gabe about postponing," Patrick starts, and Spencer jumps in with "No, we can't do that, it took me a year to get this set up."

"You told Gabe?" Ryan says incredulously and Patrick waves his hands.

"Not outright, but the first thing he asked me when I hit his suite was 'So, seriously, is Urie back from the dead?' so he's not in the dark. Then he kind of kicked me out, so I have no idea what he's thinking."

"Look, Brendon's back, that's amazing and deserves its own party, but I've got the families of half a dozen missing kids in this building and I'm not canceling the biggest fundraiser of the year." Spencer stares Patrick down, and Pete says, "Look, we can do it, but we can't not let people know about Brendon."

"What Brendon wants to do is Brendon's business," Ryan cuts in, but Keltie continues with, "The more we keep secret they more they're going to try and find out by going through our trash, Ry." Sam turns his face into his father's leg.

Brendon stands in the corner of the room as everyone talks over each other. The whole room is a cacophony by the time there's a loud knock at the door. Pete checks the peep hole as the room falls silent.

"Come on, Peter Pan, I heard you all in there," Gabe yells through the door and Patrick sighs loudly. "I need to see for myself."

Pete opens the door and Brendon crosses his arms, already on the defensive. He hates feeling like an animal at the zoo. But when Gabe sees him, Ryland and Alex on his heels, he just stops and shakes his head. "It's true, then."

Brendon lifts his chin. "Yeah." Gabe is wearing a hot pink t-shirt emblazoned with 'The Future Is Here' in yellow lettering and black tuxedo pants. Ryland is wearing a clearly expensive suit jacket and a pair of silver-rimmed glasses. Alex is in the same button down black shirt Brendon is pretty sure he was wearing the last time Brendon saw him, eight years ago.

"Do you know what happened?" Gabe asks, and Brendon shakes his head.

"He lost the last eight years," Ryan says but Gabe is still looking at Brendon, head tilted a little to one side.

"Huh," Gabe says, exchanging a glance with Ryland. "Okay." The three of them leave as quickly as they arrived, and the room is quiet for a second before Laura says, "Wow, he's even weirder than the tabloids say he is, isn't he?" The whole room murmurs in agreement.

"Okay, game plan," Pete says, and all eyes turn to him. Brendon is impressed by how he can still command a room; the Wentz empire has apparently grown so much that Pete is an actual _boss_ now. "I'm calling a press conference for noon tomorrow. Brendon's parents will be in by then, and he'll have a chance to see them first, obviously. We're all going to be there, Brendon included, and a few members of Cobra. I'll get the FBI and the LVPD to send reps. The show will still go on, and we'll plan a sit down with some key press starting over the weekend. My PR guys are already setting those up. Brendon," Pete looks at him, "I'm lending you my law team and my security detail for the moment. We'll figure out how best to keep the public off your back as we go. Until the conference, everyone hunker down and lay low. I don't want anyone off this floor if they can help it."

"We don't have a room," Ryan pipes up, and Pete says "You can have mine. I"ll bunk in with 'Trick, like old times." Pete winks at Patrick who just shakes his head.

"It's sofa city for you, sweetheart," he grins and Pete flutters his eyelashes.

"Come on, Patrick, you know you're my most favorite," he says, sugary sweet, and Brendon watches the slick persona slide right off him as Patrick flicks him in the side of the head.

"Is that? I mean, I don't know what I'll say," Brendon says, his voice sounding really small. Everyone turns to look at him. "No one's gonna believe me, are they?" he asks. "I don't really even believe me."

"Fuck 'em," Spencer says, and flushes a little when Nora giggles. "Seriously, who cares what anyone else thinks? You're home, that's what matters."

Brendon looks around at the familiar-but-not faces in the room, at Laura, and Ryan's kids, and Spencer's scar, and wonders if this is ever going to feel like home.

*


	3. Chapter 3

They manage to get dinner brought in by Pete's security detail-- subs and Mexican food and pizza from all of Brendon's favorite local spots. He wants to remind them that, in his own head, he had Port of Subs three weeks ago (and also he's still stuffed on nachos), but they all look so happy watching him eat that he lets it go. Nora falls asleep in Spencer's lap on the floor of Patrick's suite and he hands her off to Keltie with a kiss to the top of her head. "We're going to turn in," Ryan says from the doorway, and everyone takes it as a cue to stand up from their picnic on the floor. It hasn't been explicitly stated where Brendon is spending the night, but he's not surprised when Spencer takes his hand again and tugs him toward the door.

"Your parents should get to the hotel by ten," Ryan says as they all part ways in the hallway. Brendon's stomach flutters at the idea of springing this all on them, knowing that he disappeared when they were still on such rocky terms, but he knows the guys will be there too and tries not to think about it. "I'll pick them up and bring them to Spence's room."

"Okay," Brendon nods, and Jon tucks an arm around his shoulder.

"Sleep tight, Bren," he says and hugs him tightly for a second before letting go. Ryan's hug is even longer, and Keltie smiles fondly at him from where she's holding Nora and propping Sam up as he leans drowsily into her. "We'll see you tomorrow, Brendon," she says, and Brendon tries not to notice the concerned looks Ryan is shooting at Spencer.

When they get back to the room, Spencer lends him a pair of boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in. Brendon looks himself over as he changes in the bathroom. He doesn't see anything different-- same freckles, same too-small hips. He doesn't have any scars that he can see, nothing suggesting an alien implant or a head injury. He's just plain old Brendon Urie, and he sighs in frustration. After tomorrow, he'll be sitting down with the FBI and he hopes they'll be able to come up with some better answers.

The lights are already off when he comes back in the room, and Brendon slips quietly under the covers. "You asleep?" he whispers.

"What do you think," Spencer answers wryly.

"Sorry I took so long," he says and he can hear Spencer turn his head on the pillow to look at him.

"Did you check behind your ears?" He asks, grinning, and Brendon hums in question. "For implants," he says and Brendon shifts lower in the covers, blushing. "Whatever, I know you," Spencer laughs and Brendon reaches out to smack him in the side.

"You think they'll make me take one of those lie detector tests?" Brendon asks, and Spencer turns on his side to look at him.

"Dunno," he says. "You think you're lying about something?"

"I don't know. I don't think so? Maybe hypnotherapy, or regression or something?" He hasn't had a chance to really think about this since it all fell on him at five am, and Brendon finds he's starting to understand Spencer's need for answers.

"Hey," Spencer says, his hand curling around Brendon's wrist. "We'll figure it out." Spencer's thumb brushes over his pulse a few times, and Brendon can feel the rush of blood to his cheeks. Even back in '07, it's been nearly a year since he shared a bed with Spencer, and Brendon hopes he doesn't embarrass himself. He feels strung out, exhausted, and his skin tingles where Spencer's hand is resting. Maybe he's been over-hugged. Before today, Brendon wouldn't have believed that was possible. But before today, Brendon wouldn't have believed a lot of things.

"Okay," he says quietly, and cringes a little at the hitch in his voice. Spencer's hand stills and Brendon closes his eyes. He thinks maybe he'll pull away, but he doesn't, and they lay there breathing quietly in the dark for long enough that Brendon starts to feel himself drifting off. It's been a long day.

"Brendon?" Spencer whispers, quiet enough that Brendon's not entirely sure he heard him.

"Hmm?" Brendon manages, and Spencer pauses. Brendon's listening now, and he can hear the short, uneven breaths Spencer is struggling through. "What's up, Spence?" he prods and Spencer pulls his hand away from Brendon's wrist.

"Nothing, sorry," he whispers, his voice a little hoarse, and Brendon furrows his brow a little.

"No, hey," Brendon murmurs-- he's so tired but Spencer isn't anywhere near sleep, and Brendon misses the warmth of Spencer's hand on his skin. He rolls to his side, eyes still closed, and reaches his hand out to find Spencer in the dark. His palm lands flat on Spencer's hip, and Brendon lets his fingers curl a little in the fabric of Spencer's cotton pajama pants. "'S'okay," he whispers. "M'awake."

Spencer's trembling a little now, and Brendon blinks his eyes open in time to see Spencer close his and take a deep, shuddering breath. "S-sorry, fuck," Spencer says and Brendon tugs Spencer toward him by the hip, scoots as close as he can until he can wrap his arm loosely around Spencer's waist, until their knees are touching under the covers. He doesn't trust himself to get any closer. Spencer's hand fists in the sleeve of Brendon's t-shirt and Brendon wishes he was more awake, wishes he knew the right things to say.

"Spence, hey," he says gently, and their noses are just inches apart, sharing the same pillow. "I wish I had better answers for you. I wish I had better answers for _me_. But we're okay, right?"

Spencer is quiet for a long time, his eyes still closed as he takes deep, cleansing breaths. Brendon isn't sure, but he thinks Spencer might be counting in his head, focusing. Brendon just rubs his knuckles over Spencer's hip a few times and waits. He forces his eyes open to keep from falling asleep. "Okay, so," Spencer finally speaks and Brendon smiles at him in the dark as his eyes flutter open.

"So."

"People don't get second chances," he starts and Brendon jumps in with his TV announcer voice.

"You never get a second chance to make a first impression," he says, trying to lighten the mood, and Spencer huffs.

"Let me get through this, please?" he says, and Brendon knows its supposed to sound stern, but all he can hear is the way Spencer's voice wavers on the 'please.'

"Yeah, of course," he replies, and squeezes Spencer's hip once when he doesn't start talking again right away.

"I've done a lot of talking to people about you," Spencer finally says, his gaze fixed near Brendon's shoulder, and Brendon just nods. "Talking _to_ you, you know? A lot of sessions where I would get the 'if he was here right now, what would you say to him?' question. 'If you had one more chance, what would you do over?' It's supposed to make it easier to get to the root of why I... of what happened to me."

Brendon scoots a little closer. He can feel Spencer's pulse racing and his own body wakes up some more in response. If he moves his hand up just an inch, he knows he'll find warm skin where Spencer's shirt has ridden up, but he forces his hand still. _Not now_ , he thinks harshly to himself. What Spencer needs right now is for Brendon to be the kind of friend Spencer needs, the kind who pays attention. This Spencer, still _his_ Spencer, but different, has been through more than Brendon can even wrap his head around, and all for him. Whatever Spencer has to say, Brendon knows it will be important. "Did you figure it out?" he asks, and Spencer shivers a little, his body shifting forward a fraction.

"Yeah," he exhales. "I spent a lot of the first year yelling at you for leaving, or apologizing for everything that happened that day, or begging you to come back. I told you to get the fuck out of my head a lot, but you just _wouldn't_. I thought you were just trying to get me to find you after everyone else gave up; I thought you stuck with me because you knew I wouldn't stop looking. That's why that day in San Diego... that's why. I thought that's where I'd find you. I thought maybe that way, I'd see you again."

"You could have stopped," Brendon says, his heart in his throat. "Seriously, Spence, you have to know that no matter where I was, I wouldn't have wanted you..." He lets go of his hip to reach up and brush Spencer's hair out of his eyes, and when Spencer looks at him, eyes dark but not distant at all, Brendon almost stops breathing. "I'm not worth dying for, Spencer Smith."

"People kept saying that, all of them, doctors and my parents and Ryan, but I don't really think that's true. Sometimes there are people you love who are worth dying for. Even if... especially if you don't figure that out until its too late." Spencer's fingers are so tight in his sleeve, and Brendon's thumb traces his cheekbone. "You scared me so fucking much back then, you have no idea," Spencer says, his voice low and far away. "That's the part I had to deal with. Not the part when you were gone, but the part when you weren't, when I couldn't deal with anything you made me feel. I was the normal one, right? I was the responsible one. You were the one who got to flirt like it didn't mean anything, who got to kiss me in the rain and then ignore that it happened the next day. I fucking hated you for that."

  
"Spence," Brendon tries, but no sound comes out, and Spencer's eyes close tight, his hand pulling harshly at the fabric of Brendon's shirt.

"I was so fucking in love with you, and I was scared out of my mind, and I _really_ fucking hated you for that, Brendon," he says, his voice wavering and too loud in the small cocoon they've made for themselves in this strange, huge bed, and Brendon's heart aches so much he can feel his throat closing up, the threat of tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He doesn't know what else to do but tug Spencer's face forward until their foreheads are pressed together, until he can kiss the hot skin under Spencer's eye, the corner of his mouth. It's less the revelation that this Spencer loves him, than that _his_ Spencer loved him, the Spencer who didn't ever seem to want Brendon to touch him anymore, who'd been better at hiding than Brendon would ever be. Not that Brendon is surprised by that, really, when he thinks about it. "It's like I pushed you away," Spencer whispers, and Brendon shivers at the warmth of Spencer's breath on his cheek. "I pushed you so far away, you just fell off the edge of the world."

"Fuck, Spence," Brendon whispers. "You didn't do this." Spence makes a small, tight sound in his throat and Brendon turns his head a fraction and just like that, they're kissing, soft and tentative giving way to something more as Spencer's fingers slipping tightly into Brendon's hair, pulling him closer. Brendon hums a little, the feeling in his chest stupidly warm, giddy as Spencer tugs Brendon half on top of him, opening his mouth when Brendon's tongue traces the seam of his lips.

Brendon's hand slips down and finds that strip of warm skin; his fingers edge under the hem of Spencer's shirt. "Bren," Spencer gasps and Brendon presses his face into Spencer's pale neck. Spencer's fingers tighten a fraction in Brendon's hair.

"This is all I ever wanted," Brendon says, like it's that simple. He knows it's not, knows that there is nothing about this that isn't a mess, but right now Spencer loves him, Spencer _wants_ him, and Brendon thinks maybe there is some sort of silver lining in this mess that is his life now. Maybe he can be that silver lining for Spencer. Their double shot at a second chance. Spencer's shaking again, tiny tremors under Brendon's fingers, and he pulls back, shifts enough that he can wrap himself around Spencer as much as possible. "Shh, hey," he murmurs and plants light kisses along Spencer's jaw. "I'm here. Let's just get some sleep, and we'll figure this all out in the morning."

*

Brendon's not sure how long he sleeps, but there's still no light coming in from around the curtains when he opens his eyes. There's a finger tracing a tentative line over his temple, dipping to run along the shell of his ear, and when Brendon turns his head to see, Spencer stops short, blinking at him. "Sorry. Hi."

"Hi," Brendon blinks back and stretches his arms out once before letting one flop back onto Spencer's stomach. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Not much of a sleeper anymore," Spencer replies, and there's something halting in his voice that brings Brendon back to the first time Spencer saw him in the hallway.

Brendon lifts up on his elbow and gives Spencer's hip a squeeze. "You okay?"

"That depends." Spencer's eyes flit from Brendon's mouth to his eyes. "You're really here?"

Brendon wonders how many times Spencer's had this dream. He leans forward to brush his lips against Spencer's cheek. "Absolutely here," he confirms, and kisses the tip of Spencer's nose. "At your service."

"I'm just--"

"Hey," Brendon cuts him off. "I'm not going anywhere, all right? I promise."

"I bet you would have said the same thing eight years ago," Spencer says softly, and Brendon's skin flashes cold because it's true. He walked out of the cabin thinking he'd be gone an hour, and he lost eight fucking years. He almost lost Spencer.

"Yeah, I would have," he says. "Fuck, Spence, I'm so, so--"

"Don't, please. I don't need you to be sorry, I just need..." He closes his eyes. "I just don't believe anyone has all the time in the world, you know? The families I work with, every one of them used to think that too, but. You never know what's going to happen. You can't make those kinds of promises."

"Okay," Brendon nods, his throat hot and tight. "How about I promise that I would never hurt you on purpose?"

Spencer nods. "I promise that I won't keep the important things to myself, even if they scare me."

"I like that one." Brendon shifts close enough to sift his fingers through Spencer's hair. He slips his knee between Spencer's and smiles. "I promise that I've wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you play drums."

"That's more of a declaration than a promise," Spencer interjects, but his voice is low and breathless.

"Yeah, I'm not really good with words, you know that," he laughs, and leans in to kiss Spencer once, twice.

"I promise not to put off until tomorrow--" Spencer starts, but Brendon just kisses him again, grinning against Spencer's mouth as he whimpers. Spencer shifts a fraction and their legs line up perfectly, Brendon slipping his thigh snugly between Spencer's and gasping a little at the friction. Spencer's hips roll up to meet his. His fingers slide under Spencer's shirt and spiderwalk up his ribcage until he can brush the calloused pad of his thumb over Spencer's nipple. Spencer bucks up under him and Brendon grins against his mouth and does it again, letting the edge of his nail slip against the bud of skin and Spencer turns his head, eyes open wide as he shivers. "Brendon, fuck, _fuck_ ," he says, and he's shaking a little.

Spencer slumps back into the pillows and Brendon raises his head until they're looking at each other, all shadows in the dark except for the pale blue rings of Spencer's eyes. He looks young, Brendon thinks, and its odd because Spencer always had old man eyes. Maybe it was all the hiding, because Brendon's never seen Spencer this open in his entire life -- half-amazed, half-terrified-- and he can't stop himself from leaning in and kissing him again.

"You're sure?" Spencer says when Brendon pulls back for air, and fuck, honestly Brendon's not really sure about most of his life right now, but he _needs_ this. He shoves Spencer's shirt up to his armpits and leans down to flick his tongue over Spencer's nipple. Spencer makes a high keening noise and Brendon actually laughs.

"Okay, how did I not know about this?" he asks and Spencer's blushing pink, his breath still hitching as Brendon mouths his way across Spencer's chest to suck lightly on his other nipple.

"Right, like I was going to give you any more ammunition," Spencer looks down at him and Brendon nods thoughtfully.

"Point."

Spencer tugs him back up and they kiss for a while, stopping to pull their shirts off. Brendon's learning Spencer in ways he never really thought he'd get to-- the nipple thing is pretty awesome, but so is the way Spencer scrapes his teeth lightly over Brendon's neck, and the way his grip tightens in Brendon's hair when Brendon traces his fingers along the waist of Spencer's soft sleep pants. "Bren," he gasps a little when Brendon moves his thigh up, presses down, and _fuck_. Brendon's been hard for a while, and the hard line of Spencer's cock is pressing into his leg. He pushes his face into the crook of Spencer's neck when he thrusts up, just a little.

"Yeah, yes," Brendon pants, rolling down into Spencer's hips. Spencer moans low in his chest, grabs Brendon's ass with one hand and there's no way they're stopping this.

Spencer's hips are legendary, really, and Brendon knew it would be like this if they ever slept together, all rolling hips and deep kisses that make Brendon dizzy. They rut against each other until Brendon thinks his dick might be rubbed raw from the soft cotton of Spencer's boxers (he's wearing _Spencer's boxers_ , and holy shit, that's a sexy thought in and of itself). His lips are tender from half a million passes over the morning stubble on Spencer's throat. Spencer can have singular focus and he distracts Brendon from any attempt at getting his hand down Spencer's pants. Finally, he slips his hand down the back of Brendon's boxers and his finger slides into the cleft of Brendon's ass, pressing down, teasing just a little. He murmurs "come on, come on," teeth scraping the shell of Brendon's ear, and Brendon doesn't even try to hold back. The noise he makes when he comes would almost be embarrassing if it didn't make Spencer moan. He grabs Spencer's hip when he starts to thrust up again. The sensation is too much, sharp lines of electricity up his still tingling spine. Spencer stills, and Brendon takes a long minute to get his breath back.

"You okay?" Spencer asks, lips pressed to his hair, and Brendon manages a weak laugh.

"Yeah, I think so." Spencer is still hard, his hips practically vibrating with the effort of not moving. Brendon shifts his thigh a fraction and he can feel Spencer's stomach tighten. "Wait, let me," Brendon breathes and pushes back onto his knees. When he tucks his fingers into the hem of Spencer's pants, Spencer's eyes flutter closed for a second.

"Brendon--"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought of this," Brendon smiles. He can almost feel his toes again, and he's slow, deliberate as he pulls Spencer's pants down over his hips until Spencer's cock is laying heavy and hard against his belly.

Spencer doesn't laugh like Brendon thinks he will. He just opens his eyes and gazes down at Brendon with wide, dark eyes, and Brendon's stomach flips. Spencer's thought about this for eight years, more, and Brendon has a sudden desire to make Spencer come so hard he won't be able to see. Spencer deserves that. Spencer deserves everything Brendon can give him. He leans in and kisses the crease of Spencer's hip, runs the tip of his tongue across coarse hair to kiss the other side. He hasn't done this a lot (not as much as Spencer probably thinks seeing as Brendon has a habit of exaggerating his conquests) but Spencer's stomach quivers under his fingers and Brendon thinks he's doing okay.

When his lips brush the base of Spencer's cock, Spencer inhales sharply. His fingers wind in the sheets, but his hips stay still. Brendon grins against his skin and reaches out to untangle Spencer's hand. He slowly works his mouth up until he can slide the plane of his tongue across the head, and gently pushes Spencer's hand into his hair just before he sucks and slides down as far as he can. Spencer's control slips enough that he pulls hard at Brendon's hair with a stuttered " _sh-shit_ ".

Brendon can't do anything but moan and Spencer's hips finally jerk, the head of his cock bumping the roof of Brendon's mouth. Brendon smoothes his hand over Spencer's hip and makes what he hopes is an encouraging sound. When he flicks his eyes up, Spencer is watching, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. For a quick second Brendon wonders at how different Spencer looks like this, but he can't tell if it's the angle or the added years.

Brendon feels really young suddenly, fumbling, like the time he hooked up with a boy in the seedy green room of a nameless venue. But Spencer's thumb traces over the rise of his cheek and Brendon closes his eyes and focuses on the slick tang of Spencer's cock, the small hitched breaths he's making. He doesn't try for anything fancy because he doesn't _know_ anything fancy, but he does add the press of his tongue to the sensitive underside of Spencer's cock, repeating it a few times when it pulls a low groan from his chest. "Bren, m'close," he gets out through clenched teeth, and Brendon hollows his cheeks and waits until the first few drops land hot and sticky on his tongue before pulling off and jerking Spencer off through the aftershocks. He's gorgeous, pale and perfect where his body expands and contracts through his orgasm, but Brendon can see another scar along his ribcage, harsher than the other, and he presses his forehead to Spencer's belly and closes his eyes.

Spencer's breaths are coming hard and fast as Brendon crawls up his body. Brendon's boxers are a little gross now that he's paying attention, and he plants a line of kisses along Spencer's shoulder before he rolls out of bed and gets himself cleaned up. He pads back to bed naked, warm washcloth in hand, and finds Spencer watching him again. He quirks his eyebrow before tossing the wet cloth on Spencer's chest.

"See something you like, Smith?" he asks, low and teasing. His smile freezes when he remembers saying the exact same thing to Spencer three days ago, Spencer's eyes following him as he got out of the hot tub at the cabin. Those three days were a lifetime to Spencer. _It's finally sinking in_ , he thinks, like his brain is detached from his body-- his chest is too tight, the whole room a little off kilter, and Brendon's eyesight blurs at the edges.

Spencer must see something on his face because he's off the bed like a shot, steering Brendon to the bed by the elbow until they're sitting side by side. Spencer pushes at the back of Brendon's neck until he's bent over double. "Breathe," he murmurs, his thumb stroking behind Brendon's ear. "I know, trust me, just breathe."

"This is so fucked up," Brendon's voice is small and tight in his own ears, and he can feel Spencer stiffen a little. "Not you, fuck," Brendon says, his head still down, and reaches out to squeeze Spencer's knee. "Just. Everything else."

"Yeah," Spencer says, and they just sit there in the quiet until Brendon's breathing normally again.

"What's going to happen now?" Brendon asks, and god, he sounds so fucking young, but he guesses that to the rest of them he actually _is_ that young. He slumps against Spencer's side and presses his nose to the hollow of Spencer's throat.

Spencer takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I don't know. We'll get some sleep, and take things as they come tomorrow. But I'm here, okay?"

"You sure you're going to be up for this?" Brendon asks, because Spencer doesn't seem broken, not really, but there's something about him now that's... fragile.

Spencer just laughs. "I've been in training for this day for _years_ ," he says. "Come on, let's sleep."

And they do.

*

The pounding on the door wakes Brendon up at five am. Spencer is wrapped around him sleeping soundly, but the next round of pounding is louder, with a "WAKE UP, COME ON, THERE ISN'T A LOT OF TIME" on the other side. "What the fuck?" Spencer blinks up at him blearily.

"Gabe," Brendon says, and Spencer rolls his eyes. The pounding continues until Spencer finally gets out of bed, tugging on his sleep pants, and goes to open the door.

"Gabe, it's not even dawn--" he starts, but Gabe pushes into the room and points at Brendon.

"Come on, kiddo, get up, we're on a deadline." He's still in his ridiculous t-shirt. Brendon wonders if he's slept at all.

"Gabe," Spencer intervenes, trying to him back to the door by his arm. "This is not the best day for this--"

"I'm sorry, I am," Gabe starts, and he's not high, Brendon can tell. He's not high, and he's awake, and he's _serious_. Brendon sits up in bed, the covers strategically covering all his naked parts.

"Gabe, what--"

"It was an accident," Gabe says, his voice a little pleading. "But he's going to get you home, Urie, so put on some pants and let's go."

"Home?" Brendon says at the same time Spencer asks "Who?"

Gabe blinks at them. "The Cobra," he says clearly. "He can get you back where you belong. Or, I guess, when. He sort of dropped you off in the wrong year."

Brendon lets out a short, surprised laugh.

Spencer doesn't find this funny at _all_. In fact, he finds it so not funny he goes to get Ryan, but Brendon can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Gabe doesn't even blink at his nakedness when he goes to the bathroom to put on his clothes. Gabe's crazy, but this whole thing is crazy, and maybe... "Make sure you have all the stuff you came with, and not anything else," Gabe says sternly, like he's practiced this speech before. Alex appears in the doorway.

"Seriously, what the hell is the holdup?" he says, and Gabe throws his arms up in frustration.

"This is so beyond fucked up, I can't even tell you," Spencer says from the hallway, arms crossed, and Ryan is pushing into the room past Alex.

"You don't have to listen to this, Bren," Ryan says, his voice rough with sleep, and Brendon can hear the faint crying down the hall of a baby who's been woken up too soon, and his throat feels tight and hot. He's missed a lot. Too much, maybe.

"What if he's not lying," Brendon says, and looks around for his keys before remembering he didn't have them in the first place.

"That's insane, there are no such thing as time-traveling cobras."

"Yeah, well, people don't come back from the dead either." Jon is in the doorway now, his hair tucked under a Cubs hat. "Maybe we need to redefine 'insane.'" Brendon squeezes Jon's hand. Brendon's lavendar hoodie is still at Ryan's place, but the rest of his clothes are the same, and he nods at Gabe.

*

The whole group of them (Ryan refuses to let Brendon go anywhere alone with Cobra Starship, and Spencer refuses to let Brendon out of his sight, and Brendon refuses to let Jon be left behind) take a service elevator up to the top floor of the hotel, and then all of them are pounding up a small set of metal stairs after Alex and Gabe. The roof is surprisingly unkempt, covered in spare bolts of wire and stacks of roofing paper. The neon shine of the hotel's signature guitar casts a weird light around in the pre-dawn.

In one corner of the rooftop, there is a silver sphere about a hundred feet across, and it's floating a foot off the ground.

Somehow its not the strangest thing that's happened to Brendon all day.

Nate is sitting on the tarred roof next to it, smoking a cigarette. "Man, he was gonna be _pissed_ if you got here after sunrise," he says, putting the butt out on the heel of his shoe and standing up. Brendon has stopped short about fifty feet from the sphere, and he can feel Spencer behind him, Ryan and Jon just to his left.

"Victoria, they're here!" Nate calls and a door falls open seemingly from nowhere. Vicky jogs down the slim metal ramp in a flouncing black and yellow sundress.

"He's all set, just needed to make adjustments for that solar flare, or whatever." She smiles when she sees Brendon. "Hey!" she says cheerfully and Brendon lifts one hand in a half-hearted wave. This actually _is_ insane.

"C'mon," Gabe says impatiently and herds them all forward until Brendon can see inside the sphere. Ryland's head is visible over a console. "Oh, awesome," Ryland says, and waves Brendon toward the ramp. "Come on, we only have a ten minute window."

Brendon balks. Thinking that time travel is possible and actually _traveling through time_ are two very different things. Jon peers over his shoulder. Spencer's hand is tight on his elbow. Ryan's the only one who can find his voice at all.

"So. Um. Where's the cobra?" he asks, and Brendon really thinks he would have started with something else, but okay.

Gabe just tilts his head. "This is The Cobra," he says, and waves his arm at the spaceship, gently bobbing on a cushion of air as Ryland strides down the platform.

"The cobra is a spaceship," Ryan says, deadpan, and Brendon can feel Jon giggle a little next to him. His breathing is also all weird so it's probably a little hysterical.

"The cobra is a _starship_ ," Gabe says, a little indignant, and Alex puts a hand on his shoulder.

"The cobra is a _symbol_ ," he smiles. "The starship is the starship. And he's really sorry about the mixup-- you weren't supposed to be gone for more than ten minutes."

"What--" Ryan asks, his hands flailing in front of him.

"He picked you up like he picks up everybody," Alex says calmly to Brendon, like this happens every day. Brendon is rethinking his position on Alex as the sane one in Cobra Starship.

"Everybody?" Ryan's voice is a little squeaky.

"Well, everyone he thinks can help us," Ryland says with an apologetic smile. "It's usually a quick scan, then back in time to right back where you came from, none the wiser. But there was some sort of solar flare when he picked you up, and his calculations were off a tiny bit."

"A tiny bit," Jon says, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Look, eight years is like half a second to this guy," Gabe says. "It was an honest mistake, and he's going to fix it, but you've GOT to get a move on, dude."

Spencer puts his hand on the small of Brendon's back. It feels like an anchor and Brendon leans into the touch.

"Brendon is NOT getting in that thing!" Ryan practically shouts, and Brendon winces.

"So you want him to be a freakshow until the end of time? You think the FBI is going to take "I don't know" as an answer forever? Especially since he medically hasn't aged a day? He doesn't belong here," Gabe shoots back.

Spencer goes totally still behind him and Brendon turns around to take his hand. "Hey, it's okay, I promised I wouldn't go, Spence. This is crazy."

"This whole thing is crazy," Spencer whispers, still looking past Brendon at the starship. "But you don't belong here, that's true."

"Spence," Brendon pleads, squeezes his fingers, and when Spencer finally looks at him, Brendon can see that his eyes are clear and focused.

"You have to go," he says firmly and Ryan makes a strangled noise beside them. "No, Ry, he has to go. This is safe?" he shoots at Gabe. "This is going to work?"

"Yes," Gabe says with absolute certainty and Ryland nods next to him.

"Okay," he looks Brendon in the eyes. "I got my second chance."

"Spence--" Brendon tries to cut in desperately because he can't do this to Spencer again, no matter how awful things might get for him here.

"I said everything I had to say, and I'll know you're safe, and maybe none of this will ever have happened." Brendon sees a flash of hope in Spencer's eyes at that, and he finally understands.

"You think... I don't know if that's how it works," Brendon whispers and Spencer nods.

"Maybe not, but at least some version of me won't have to live through this," he says tightly. "And you won't have to deal with the insanity that's about to become your life."

Ryan presses in at Brendon's elbow. "You don't have to do this," he says roughly, and Brendon leans into him a little.

He reaches out a hand for Jon. "What do you think?" he asks, because Jon's opinion always mattered. Jon always saw the big picture.

"I think you should do what makes sense to you," he says quietly, looking from Brendon to Spencer. "It's a leap of faith, but sometimes those have the best payout."

"Okay," Brendon says, and takes a deep breath. Spencer smiles. Brendon looks over him shoulder at Gabe. "Okay."

"All right, lets go!" Gabe says with a huge grin. The rest of his band jog a few feet out of the way as the starship starts to hum.

"Bren," Ryan says, and Brendon can tell he's not okay with any of this. He pulls him in for a tight hug.

"You're just fine, Ryan Ross," he says low in his ear. "I'm ridiculously proud of you." Ryan hugs him back hard enough to bruise.

Jon's hugs is less desperate, but somehow more sad. Brendon plants a kiss to his temple before whispering, "They miss you." Jon nods, and Brendon can tell he's trying not to cry. "I'll miss you too," he adds and Jon just holds on tight for a second before stepping back.

"Don't mess up the future with your evil time traveling knowledge," he says with mock seriousness, his eyes shining, and Brendon laughs.

"Like anyone would believe me."

Spencer takes his hand and Brendon can feel the urge to stay tugging on him. Back home, Spencer wouldn't ever look at him like this, with eyes full of warmth and wonder. He leans in for a kiss. "I love you," he says softly and Spencer smiles against his mouth.

"I love you too."

"You sure you can do this?" Brendon asks. "I promised not to disappear--"

"Yeah, but this time I'll know where you are," he says with a squeeze to Brendon's hand. "You'll be with me."

"Yeah," Brendon says, his heart already aching, and Spencer cups his chin, forces his gaze up.

"Don't let me fuck it up, Bren," he says seriously. "I'm going to be a douchewad about it, but don't ever believe me if I say I don't love you. I was a fucking idiot when I was nineteen."

"Noted," Brendon says with a watery smile. "I'll try to tread lightly."

"Not too lightly," Spencer smiles back and Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's neck for a full body hug.

"I'll see you soon," he whispers low in Spencer's ear before pulling back for one last kiss. It's sweet and soft, with the hint of a gasp at the end, and Brendon files it away in his memory. It might be a long time before he gets to kiss Spencer like this again, but it certainly won't be never. Brendon's tenacious like that.

"Urie, last chance!" Gabe shouts, and suddenly the hum from the starship is loud enough to make the air around them vibrate. Brendon gives one last wave and runs up the ramp.

*

There's nothing inside but the console, covered in strange glowing symbols Brendon doesn't understand. The whole starship raises up fast enough that Brendon can feel the swoosh of it in his stomach. A voice from all around him says "Yo, you may want to sit down."

Brendon just blinks at the console. The _spaceship_ is _talking to him_?

"Starship," the voice says, like it can read Brendon's mind. "And suit yourself, dude, but we're about to go really fast."

Brendon is halfway to a sitting position, legs crossed under him, when the starship bucks forward with enough force to send him skidding across the slick metal floor. He sees the wall coming and thinks "fuck, not again" before everything goes black.

*

It's dark when he blinks his eyes open, and Brendon's head hurts like a son of a bitch. His ass is cold and a little clammy and there is the rustle of dead leaves when he moves. He scrambles to his knees and yeah, this is the same spot in the woods where he lost his footing. It's deja vu for a moment until he catches sight of his phone sitting on the hill a few feet away. Brendon laughs out loud, his whole body giddy with excitement as he scrambles up the hill, phone in hand, and runs down the path back to the cabin.

He knows for sure the trip back worked when he rounds the corner and Ryan and Spencer's cars are there, a light shining out of the kitchen window. Brendon nearly pulls the door off its hinges trying to open it.

"Hey," Jon says from his seat on the couch. He's got a bowl of mac and cheese in his lap, and his hair is sticking up in back. "We were about to send out a search party," he says with a grin and Brendon launches himself from the doorway to wrap his arms around Jon's neck.

"Don't ever leave us, okay?" he mumbles into Jon's shirt and Jon just laughs and pats him on the arm.

"Okay," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and Brendon thinks _this is home_.

Ryan appears from the hall and frowns at Brendon. "You went out in a t-shirt? How are you not freezing?" Ryan's haircut (or maybe lack of haircut) is ridiculous, and Brendon can't help his wide, stupid smile.

"Such a mother hen," he says fondly and Ryan huffs.

"Whatever, get pneumonia and die, see if I care," he shrugs and shuffles toward the kitchen.

Brendon catches his arm and gives him a quick squeeze around the waist. "You'd care," he says and Ryan shoves him off, but he's smiling a little.

"You're a total spaz, you know that," he says and Brendon feels like he wants to pick up Jon and Ryan and dance around like a fucking _madman_ , but first. First.

"Is Spence in his room?" he asks and Ryan's smile fades a little.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't go in there. He's fucking _pissed_ at you dude."

"Yeah," Brendon says, and he should be cautious, he knows he should, but it's _Spencer_ , who is probably upstairs _pining_ for him, and he bounces a little on the balls of his feet. "I'll just apologize," he says with a smile and takes the stairs two at a time until he's outside Spencer's door.

Spencer's playing The Eagles loud enough that Brendon can hear every word, so he doesn't bother knocking. He just opens the door wide enough to peek in and sees Spencer laying on his bed, bare feet propped up on his pillow. He's reading a Steinbeck novel, something Brendon remembers from high school. He's sporting almost enough scruff to count as a beard and Brendon wonders what it would feel like on his skin and has to bite his lip to keep from making a sound.

"Hey," he says, stepping into the room and leaning on the door to close it. He keeps his hands tucked behind him, palms against the cool wood of the door. His heart is racing a mile a minute and he forces his face into a friendly half-smile.

Spencer doesn't even put his book down; he hits pause on his stereo and glares at Brendon over the top. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I guess... I wanted to say I'm sorry," he starts.

"You _guess_ ," Spencer spits back at him, and Brendon ducks his head. It's only been a day, really, since he's seen Spencer like this, but it's like he's forgotten how closed off Spencer can get, how defensive and arrogant and... scared. It never looked like fear to Brendon before, but he knows better now.

"I'm sorry," Brendon says quietly, trying his best catch Spencer's eyes. He means it to count for a lot more than his hissy fit, but he's not sure how to say it. Spencer puts his book down and sits up, and at least Brendon has his attention.

"You just think everything is about _you_ , Brendon. You think that everyone is just here to fucking _entertain_ you. And sometimes," Spencer pauses, his fingers tightening around the edge of his mattress. "Sometimes there's shit going on you don't fucking know about, okay? Sometimes I just want to be left the fuck _alone_."

"Okay," Brendon says, and he means it. He's not going to push this, not knowing how amazing the end could be. He's not going to risk pushing Spencer away.

"You're really fucking hard to be friends with sometimes, you know that?" Spencer says, his gaze landing on Brendon's neck. Brendon wonders too late if there's a mark there from the other Spencer, remembers the feeling of teeth against his throat and he can't stop the blush that creeps over his cheeks.

"I know," Brendon manages faintly and Spencer blinks down at the floor. "Maybe that means we're not supposed to be friends," he says and smiles a little when Spencer's head jerks up. He wants to drop to his knees and kiss Spencer senseless, but he grabs the doorknob instead and lets himself out.

He's treading lightly, here. Oh so fucking lightly.

The next morning, Brendon runs into Spencer in the kitchen and bumps his shoulder as they both reach for the coffee pot. Brendon grins at him and Spencer shakes his head and cracks a smile. "Hey, is there sugar?" Brendon says and reaches over Spencer's shoulder for the sugar container on the shelf above the sink.

Spencer snorts. "Like you need it."

As he lowers his hand, Brendon lets his knuckles brush over Spencer's nipple through his t-shirt and licks his lips as Spencer takes a nearly-silent breath. Brendon waits a beat before taking a step back and pouring the sugar into his coffee.

 _Not too lightly,_ he remembers, and grins at Spencer over the edge of his mug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Authors notes: The idea for this fic came from one of my favorite childhood films, _Flight of the Navigator_ , and I want to thank all the people who let me flail at them about my "Flight of the Brendonator" fic for, oh, nearly a _year_. Thanks to the girls of Oxford House, including the West Coast Chapter and Team Canada, and anyone I was stuck in a car/van/plane/train with for more than an hour. Special thanks to my amazing beta [](http://o4fuxache.livejournal.com/profile)[**o4fuxache**](http://o4fuxache.livejournal.com/) , who is the Statler to my Waldorf and makes me laugh even when mocking my punctuation; to my cheerleading squad/reader/fanmixer [](http://siryn99.livejournal.com/profile)[**siryn99**](http://siryn99.livejournal.com/) who actually made those high pitched noises only dogs can hear when I told her I was finished; and to my lovely roommate [](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/profile)[**schuyler**](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/). This outtake is for her:
>
>> Ryan blinks. "Is there a snake flying that spaceship?" he asks, his eyes widening.
>> 
>> "No. There is a _cobra_ flying that _starship_ ," Gabe answers, more than a hint of snugness in his voice and Spencer makes a choked noise.
>> 
>> "Well, then," Jon says calmly and they all look at him. He shrugs. "Well, it explains a LOT."


End file.
